Cracked
by thesewarmstars
Summary: A TOP GEAR (UK) oneshot. James has been watching Jeremy. Jeremy has finally noticed. J/J pre-slash.


**Fandom:** Top Gear (UK).

**Pairing:** Jeremy Clarkson/James May.

**Rating:** R.

**Warnings:** Past non-con (non-graphic description, but lots of angsting)

**Word count:** 1,839.

**Summary:** James has been watching Jeremy. Jeremy has finally noticed.

**Disclaimer:** I'm making zero dollars off this story. Also, it is fiction.

**AN:** It's a bit dark and angsty, so sorry if it seems a bit much at first—but it ends well, I swear! (I'm sure anyone who knows me from other fandoms will be wholly unsurprised). This is my first ever Top Gear fic! Be gentle with me.

There it was, another look! What was he thinking of, keeping tabs on Jeremy like that? Did James suppose he'd suddenly sprout horns, or start dancing a jig? Jeremy had noticed it, the watching, so gradually that he couldn't really say how long it had been going on. Just that it was, and it was downright irritating. One more covert glance around the newspaper and Jeremy couldn't take it anymore.

"I've seen you watching me, you know," Jeremy said, not even looking away from the TV screen.

"Dunno what you mean."

Jeremy sneaked a glance and saw James' knuckles white around his biro, eyes trained on the paper. "Oh, you know."

And that was when he saw it. Twin spots of color, high on James' cheeks. His neck wasn't exactly lily-white, either. He'd definitely caught him out at _something_, but what was he up to that was so embarrassing? It was like first form when all his friends suddenly became obsessed with casually glancing down the tops of girls' blouses, but denied it with passion, looking every which way but your eyes, if they were ever called out. Classic cases, really, of boy covets g—"Ha!"

James finally looked up, eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but when Jeremy leapt off the couch, finger pointing James' way, James sprang up as well.

"Clarkson, what—" James started, but Jeremy just stepped closer, smug expression unfazed.

"You're a homosexualist. For real!" Jeremy informed him, still advancing. "And you want me."

The pink—all color, really—drained from James' face as he backed away, stumbling a bit against the arm of the couch. "W-what are you—stop it!"

Grinning, Jeremy crowded James against the wall and planted one right on his lips. Due to the suddennes and shock of it all—or so Jeremy assumed, since obviously his kissing skills were top-notch—James didn't really respond at all, so Jeremy leaned in again.

"Stop it, all of you, please! No!"

Now that he was looking properly, Jeremy realized James was shrinking back from him, eyes squeezed shut, hands aloft as if to ward off blows. He took a big step back.

"James?"

Though he kept his eyes closed, breathing harshly through his nose, James' hands slowly fell to his sides.

"You okay?"

"Course," James whispered.

"What happened?"

James shook his head. "Nothing."

Jeremy snorted in disbelief. "Right. That's why you looked as if I was about to lop your head off." He paused. "How old were you, how long has it been?"

"Twenty-three," James answered, confirming Jeremy's suspicions.

In any normal situation, Jeremy would shout, 'I knew it!' and pump his fist in the air or point his finger, and possibly pontificate about his omniscience. But this was far from normal. He felt no triumph. He felt…he wasn't sure what it was, but it was making his chest hurt.

"What happened?" he asked again.

Finally James opened his eyes, though he only looked at the floor. "I came out of a pub. A, you know, a…specialty one. Drunk, stumbling down the pavement. A bloke comes up, says he wants to get to know me better, we come to the alleyway." He glances up at Jeremy then away again. "I was so…I was looking forward to it."

" 'All of you'," Jeremy repeated quietly. "How many were there?"

"Five. Well four, really. They… took turns."

"What about the fifth bloke?"

"He didn't— he only, you know…" He gestured vaguely toward his mouth.

"Raped your mouth," Jeremy supplied flatly.

James flinched. "No! Well, I suppose."

"The others, did they… Was it…?" He thought about all the times James had shied away from a touch, how he sat five feet away on the couch even after they stumbled out of their respective rooms hungover from overindulging. How much pain must there have been? "Christ, James, I just…"

"What, you want all the gritty details, is that it?" James snapped, finalled pushing away from the wall to pace. "Not humiliating enough for you so far? You want to hear how they didn't even have to tie me up or hold me down, they just gave me a couple of smacks and I stopped fighting? How all I did was whimper and take it while they did whatever they wanted? How I can't… I haven't… Since then I just, even though you're right, I am, I just can't…"

James ran a hand through his hair then whirled, finger pointing accusingly at Jeremy. "And a lot of help you've been! I never once took you to task when you implied things or called me names, because I knew it was true. I never pushed anything on you, despite how I… I never did anything! You did this, despite the fact it's not been the great joke you were hoping for."

Jeremy looked at him helplessly. He really was a classic pillock. "I didn't mean… I'm so sorry." He reached out a hand, but let it drop before it made any contact.

"I'm not going break, you big sop. I'm still as much a man as you!" he shouted, and Jeremy wondered whom he was trying to convince.

"I know, I know you are."

James deflated, his bravado whooshing out of him on a sigh. He sank onto the couch and let his head fall into his hands.

Jeremy didn't know what to do. He was sad confused and angry—very, very angry. He noticed his hand balled into a fist at his side and consciously unclenched it.

"You kissed me."

Jeremy started. With all the drama, he'd almost forgotten what had started all this. "True," he agreed.

"Why?" James asked, forehead still cradled in his palms. "It was a laugh, right? It was… You didn't…" James finally lifted his head, looking at Jeremy from under his hair, and Jeremy was struck dumb by his expression.

He had just enough time to wonder whether it was despair or embarrassment or hope he saw before James turned away again.

"Course not."

"Of course not, what?" Jeremy asked. "Not everything I do is with the sole aim of taking the piss, you know," he added in an automatic defense of his motives.

"You _kissed_ me. It was a joke."

"It wasn't!"

"You're straight, Clarkson. Why would you do that if not for a laugh? You haven't turned gay, have you?"

"Of course not!"

James waved his hand. "Well, there you go then."

"But…" Jeremy was a bit stumped. It hadn't _really_ been to take the piss out of James for being a homosexualist, though perhaps a bit for pining for the likes of Jeremy. And it was maybe a bit to drive home the fact that he'd been right about this particular thing, and was generally right about everything. But mostly…

"I thought it was what you wanted."

James looked startled. "You mean to tell me that you did something against your nature, something you find disgusting, purely to please me?"

Jeremy wanted to deny that. Not the last part, but the other bits. It hadn't really felt _unnatural_, as such, and he had no recollection of being disgusted at the time. Strange.

In the end, he could only shrug. "I like to see you happy."

James' eyes narrowed. "You are…bizarre."

"What? You're my mate, it's only natural to want you to be happy! Apart from when I'd rather fight with you, of course. You've got that little smile, all secretive with the crinkled eyes—you know the one."

"You like my smile." James looked at him askance. "Are you sure you're not queer?"

Jeremy scoffed. If all it took to qualify as a gayist was enjoying James May's smile, or noticing when his eyes twinkled, or wanting to finger-comb his hair, or liking the way he tasted and maybe wanting another go at the flavor of him… Okay, that last bit did sound a bit ginger beer, but… Oh, fucking hell. He'd been a homosexualist for years and hadn't even known it!

"What did you do to me?" he demanded.

"Me? I didn't do anything! You're the one who came at me," James reminded him.

"Yes, but you made me want you somehow," Jeremy accused.

"I… What? You…what?"

"Is it catching, the gay thing?"

"Of course not, you cock. If you've turned gay, I had nothing to do with it." His eyes darted between his knees and Jermey's face. "You haven't, have you?"

"No, I…maybe. I don't know! How do you tell?"

"I think wanting to have sex with a man is really the biggest clue."

Jeremy's shoulders sagged. "I suppose so, then."

James' eyebrows leapt up under his hair. "You're not serious."

"Don't I look serious?" He flopped back down on the other end of the couch.

"And you… You're interested in…well, in me." That skittish look was creeping back into James' face.

"Not… Not if you don't, you know. If you're not…" He waved his hand vaguely. Then he thought about all those looks. "But you are, aren't you?"

"You were never meant to know. I hadn't planned on… Well, on anything, really."

"So you were, what? Just going to mope around pining for me forever because you were scared that I'd hurt you?"

"I've not been _pining_, you berk. And I'm not scared of you. I know you'd never hurt me. Not intentionally, at least. Not physically."

That was a lot of qualifications, Jeremy thought, and figured he ought to be offended. He couldn't really muster it up, though. He could acknowledge his tendency to approach every problem with a hammer. He shuddered. God, what a horrifying thought.

"I'd… I wouldn't be… You _are_ important to me, James."

James barked out a laugh. "Are you seriously sitting there trying to convince me we should, what, 'get together'?"

"No!" Dear god, he was. "Maybe."

James figeted. "As much as I… I'm not sure… I don't think I can… You should go after someone who isn't broken."

"I don't want anyone else, you idiot. And you're not broken! You're just a bit cracked 'round the edges, is all."

" 'Cracked' is right," James muttered.

"Can I kiss you again?"

James' eyes went wide as saucers. "What?"

"Well, the last one didn't go that well, so I figured I ought to have another go. This time with some warning."

"I…" James' mouth opened and closed a few times. "Okay."

"Really? Okay." Jeremy slid over the couch until their knees were just touching and leaned over.

He pressed his mouth slowly over James', but his lips were stiff and unyielding. In fact, James' whole body was taught with tension.

"You know I'm not going to hurt you. I swear I won't do anything terrible."

The corner of James' mouth quirked up. "What, ever?"

Jeremy rolled his eyes. "Yes, ever. I plan to pursue sainthood from now on. Are you happy?"

The other corner quirked up as well. "Yeah."

This time they both leaned a bit until they met in the middle.


End file.
